


Not My Fault

by snarkasaurus



Category: The Mummy Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkasaurus/pseuds/snarkasaurus
Summary: Jonathan would just like to point out that things are rarely, if ever, his fault. He just happens to be around when things happen.





	Not My Fault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiccy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccy/gifts).



It wasn't that Jonathan intended to get them into trouble. He didn't. Really. The goal was never to get into trouble. The goal was only ever to have fun. Rick never believed him. 

To be fair to Rick, they always seemed to wind up in trouble. Sure, the first time wasn’t _really_ Jonathan’s fault. Evy was the one that’d read from the book! He’d told Rick that multiple times. Rick finally told him that if he hadn’t given Evy that key in the first place, she never would have had a book to open and read from its pages. Jonathan had admitted that, but pointed out that if he hadn’t given Evy the key, Rick wouldn’t have Evy now, and really, which was the better outcome in the end? 

Rick had just glared at him. 

Jonathan counted it as a win. 

The thing was, it was about the only thing Jonathan _could_ count as a win. Well, no, technically, he counted a lot of things as wins: the large amounts of gold brought back from Hamunaptra, for example, or that without him, Evy and Rick wouldn’t have met. Evy and Rick’s home, with a small suite set aside for him in the back to use, came from the proceeds of all that gold they’d been able to sell. 

Currently, however, that seemed...not important. Not when there was a gun waving around in the air, he was tied to a chair, back to back with Rick who was _also_ tied to a chair, with the pile of things they’d found and planned on taking back to London currently being picked over by some smelly thugs who thought they were better than their captives. 

One generally thought that way when you had people tied up, Jonathan was willing to admit, but overall, they weren’t anything. 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Rick hissed, turning his head so Jonathan could hear him. “Didn’t I tell you?” 

“You did,” Jonathan admitted, and then quickly added, “which is why you told Evy to stay home with Alex instead of coming along herself. You said you’d be better able to get me out of trouble since I always seemed to get into trouble.” He paused. “Which was quite rude, you know. I don’t _always_ get into trouble.” 

“Now is not the time for that argument, Jonathan,” Rick muttered, and Jonathan had to admit he was right. Still, though, he didn’t always wind up in trouble, and he somewhat resented that implication. “Do you have an idea for how to get us out of this?” 

“As it happens,” Jonathan said. “I do. The man waving the gun, I believe I went to school with him…” he cleared his throat and spoke up. “I say, old chap, you do seem familiar. Do you mind satisfying some curiosity and telling me where you went to school?” 

The gun waver narrowed his eyes, but he stopped pacing around and muttering. “Why?” 

Rick hissed again, “what are you _doing?_ ” but Jonathan ignored him and gave his best Charming Idiot smile. 

“Because you remind me of someone I went to Eton with, and I was wondering if you were the same chap!” he said cheerfully. 

The man blinked. “I did go to Eton,” he said slowly, “but I don’t remember you.” 

“Yes, well. Just one of those faces. Easy to forget and all,” Jonathan said smoothly. Good, the man was getting closer, taking a few slow steps as Jonathan captured his attention. Now, if he could just finish working his pocket knife back into Rick’s hands… 

“Wait a minute,” the man said, eyes narrowing. Jonathan froze. “I think I _do_ remember you… Jonathan Carnahan, a year ahead of me, constantly getting into scrapes.” He turned away to glare at the men behind him who started to make noises. Jonathan took that opportunity to shove the knife into Rick’s hand and hope that Rick figured out what it was and what Jonathan wanted. By the subtle sawing motion that started just a few moments later, Rick had. Jonathan knew Rick had always been his favorite brother-in-law. 

He smiled brightly at their captor when the man turned back and shifted himself in his seat, trying to both provide physical cover for what Rick was doing and to disguise any movement of the ropes. “Yes, that is indeed me! Well done, old chap, I knew you looked familiar. I must say, though, I don’t remember your name.” 

The man sighed and the gun reoriented on the floor as he lowered his hand. “No one ever does,” he muttered. “Wesley Smythe-Whitely.” 

Jonathan frowned. That name did actually sound familiar… “Were you the poor chap that Anthony Michaels and Byron St. James tied to the tree outside the dean’s window?” He very, very carefully kept his tone dismayed and sympathetic. At the time, he’d thought it one of the best jokes played that year, but he’d be willing to bet that Wesley Smythe-Whitely would feel otherwise. “Bad business, that. I only heard about it days later. Did you ever get your clothes back?” 

Behind him, Rick made a subtle choking noise, quickly turning it into a cough. Smythe-Whitely didn’t seem to notice. 

“I did. George Fitzpatrick saved them from being dumped in the bins.” He sniffed. “Michaels and St. James got what they deserved.” 

As far as Jonathan knew, the two had been whipped by the dean for behavior unbecoming. He also happened to know the the dean had made sure the affair was brushed aside and quitely dealt with when Mrs. Smythe-Whitely had forced her husband to protest to the Dean that their son had been ill-treated. Of course, he only knew that because he’d been waiting to see the dean when the Smythe-Whitelys had arrived and departed. He had learned young how to make his eavesdropping skills work to his advantage. “Good show,” he said, doing his best to sound diplomatic. “What are you doing now?” 

“You mean aside from taking your find and claiming it as my own?” And suddenly, there was a cruel smile on Smythe-Whitely’s face that Jonathan never would have predicted the man was capable of producing. “The usual sorts of things one does when they’re settled comfortably into a life of crime. Letting others do the hard work and taking credit for it. Making scads of money off of it, too.” He smirked. “Let’s see what you’ve found that I’ll be selling to the highest bidder.” And to Jonathan’s astonishment, he turned away, crossing over to the two men sorting through the pile. 

“He’s pleasant,” Rick muttered. 

“Always was. Just wish I’d been the one to tie him to the tree,” Jonathan muttered back. 

Jonathan felt more than heard Rick chuckle, and then the next thing he knew, the ropes slackened, just a little. “Did you--” 

“Yes. holding them in place now. How far away are they?” 

Jonathan tried to estimate the distance between them and their captors. It was difficult because he was not the best at accurate...anything, except for shooting. “Fifty feet?” 

“Not too bad. Here’s what you are going to do…” Rick outlined a plan that mostly consisted of Jonathan rushing at Wesley while he--Rick--took out the other two men. Since this was significantly less dangerous that murderous mummies, he was game. 

“Three...two...one...go!” Jonathan surged forward on Rick’s word, rushing toward Wesley just as he’d been ordered. He managed to tackle his old schoolmate before he could do much of anything other than turn around at the sound of Rick and Jonathan moving. He shifted to straddle Wesley and landed a right hook right across his jaw, knocking Wesley out. Or, Jonathan mused, at least dazing him enough that Wesley wasn’t fighting. 

He looked up to see one of the two brutes slam into the wall and the other fall to the floor, assisted by Rick’s fist. “You really are quite handy in a fight,” he observed. 

“Thanks. Looks like you managed to deal with your part of the bargain.” Rick wiped away a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Jonathan assumed he’d gotten punched. “Grab the rope from my bag. We’ll tie them up and alert the authorities on our way out.” 

Jonathan got up and retrieved the rope. At least Rick couldn’t blame him for the trouble this time.


End file.
